Esmeralda
by dasserk
Summary: Esme Gringoire had only known her roommate, Emma Swan, for three months when Emma's son shows up at their door. Though she didn't plan to stay in Storybrooke, and wasn't in Henry's book, her story - Esmeralda's story - was irrevocably tangled into their own, from the very beginning. Quick to love others and easy for others to love back, Esme would change the fate of Storybrooke.
1. Make a Wish

**This story is starting from the very beginning, the first episode actually. Emma's a loner, I know, but Esme takes her in anyway as a roommate. Because Esme's just like that - compassionate. **

**I'd say that Esme was an OC, but it's more like an original interpretation of a character that was previously created. Oh, I intend to introduce other characters too! It'll be fun. **

**I'm kind of making up my own history for this character addition. Based off _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_, I give you: Esmeralda! But, like many characters in OUaT, her history is not what is written in Victor Hugo's novel. **

* * *

Emma hadn't known her roommate for very long, but they'd fallen into an easy pattern months ago and Emma decided she ought to learn more. Not that Emma liked sharing her past with people. Esme Gringoire was just the kind of person that anyone would feel comfortable around; she was friendly.

Like now, Esme hummed a tune that Emma didn't recognize, dancing around their tiny kitchen as she set the table for two. Emma wasn't allowed to help, because it was her birthday. Though she was determined to celebrate any occasion that she could, Emma would not call her roommate a party animal.

Emma set her chin against the edge of the couch, watching Esme quizzically. It's not like Esme knew that Emma had never celebrated her birthday with someone before (besides a cupcake with Neal), but Emma had answered a flurry of generic personal questions when Esme had first met Emma as a possible roommate.

Not that she'd ever admit it, but Emma was touched that Esme remembered everything about her; the streamers were green, they were eating pizza from her favorite place, and Esme promised chocolate cake. If any other person had done it, Emma would have been on high-alert for danger. But it was Esme, and Emma had grown accustomed to her roommate's celebratory, kind nature.

"Where are you from, Es?" asked Emma, out of the blue. It seemed like a random question, but nothing was ever random about Emma—she was just very interested in the answer.

Esme didn't pause in her dance-preparations, but twirled in her hippie-skirt to face Emma with a bright look in those unusual green eyes. They were the basis for Emma's first question, actually. Where did Esme get her bright green eyes—not unlike Emma's own irises—when Esme was naturally dark-skinned and her hair was black and curly?

"_I waz born in France,_" Esme responded, playing up her underlying accent with a smile. It wasn't often that Emma could pick up on it. "My mother was a Gypsy, my father a French poet," she explained, her green eyes flashing as if she knew Emma was wondering about her looks.

Esme ushered Emma to her seat, serving her a slice of pizza like it was as important as turkey on Thanksgiving. "So how long have you been in the US?" Emma asked through a bite of cheesy pepperoni. Esme scrunched up her nose, like an offended mother. Emma's lips quirked up in a little smile—Esme was actually two years younger than her.

"Three years, but I spent time in Britain before that. I came to New York initially, as a dancer."

The pizza was halfway to Emma's mouth when she froze, shooting Esme a shocked look. Esme didn't seem to get it initially, frowning at Emma's reaction, but then it clicked.

"Oh—_oh!_ Mind out of the gutter, Emma. I meant an actual dancer, in theater productions and the likes." She laughed good-naturedly anyway as Emma gave her an apologetic smile. "When I came to Boston, I had chosen a more realistic lifestyle. And now, I work at a humble little pawn shop."

Emma chewed through her bite of pizza, stalling the inevitable. Esme would never ask, but now, Emma was compelled to share a bit about herself. "Well, you know I'm a bounty hunter," Emma said unnecessarily. Esme just hummed in agreement, listening while she ate. "I… uh, I was a foster kid. I changed my name to 'Swan' when I was legal."

She didn't look at Esme for her reaction, even though she doubted that Esme would make a big deal of it. Esme never made a big deal about anything, whereas Emma took everything very seriously. "I am glad that you have gotten to where you are then, Emma. I have met many children without parents. Most were simply lost."

It was a jarring response, to say the least. Emma hadn't expected it, though she knew that there was nothing expectant about Esme. She was right, though; Emma had fought very hard to get to where she was now...

At the same moment, both young women looked up to meet each others' jaded expressions, and Emma wondered just how different Esme was from herself. As Emma stared back at her plate, thinking about things that she had no intentions of speaking about, Esme stood—willowy and graceful, as always—and zoomed into the kitchen to bring out the chocolate cake.

A smallish, chocolate-frosted cake was placed in front of Emma, dotted with a few little candles with colorful wax stars. The cake read: _Make a Wish, Emma_. It was odd, but then again, so were Emma and Esme.

The candles were lit, making Esme's earrings glitter. "Want a song? I'm told my singing voice is _horrendous_," Esme suggested cheerfully. Emma grinned briefly, and shook her head. Esme nudged her in the shoulder meaningfully. "You'd better make a wish though, _mon amie_. I'll know if you don't."

Though Emma seriously doubted it, she played along, feigning momentary fear before closing her eyes. _I wish I wasn't so alone,_ Emma said to herself, thinking of the solitary life she led. If Esme weren't around to talk to, Emma would have considered herself a hermit.

Inhaling the scent of chocolate, Esme's rosy perfume and cheesy pizza, Emma carefully blew out the seven candles from her cake. Esme cheered softly clasping her hands together in delight. Emma used to sneer when she noticed how eccentric her roommate was—now all she did was smile.

"Happy birthday, _mon amie_. May all your dreams come true." Esme hugged her gently, sisterly, and though she doesn't get hugged often, Emma didn't really mind. She had a knack for spotting lies, after all.

Esme was only sincere, in everything she said.

It was after they had cut the cake, enjoying generous slices, when the doorbell rang, cutting through the roommates' small talk and echoing through the small apartment. Again, their eyes met—and neither woman knew who would be at the door.

Esme was up first, hopping to her feet and swiping away any evidence of chocolate from her smile and saying, "I'll get the door! It must be for you, I never get any pleasant company these days…" Emma raised an eyebrow, but ignored the comment. She kept her plate close and trailed behind Esme.

"Hello?" Esme blinked. It seemed as though no one were there—until she looked down and met the curious eyes of a young boy. "Oh, hello there! Can I help you?"

The boy looked decidedly uncomfortable. "Er—does Emma Swan live here?"

Esme opened the door wider for the boy to see Emma standing behind her. "Yes she does. I'm her roommate, Esme. What's your name?"

Emma's spirits fell considerably, along with her smile, as the boy answered, looking past Esme to stare at her. "I'm Henry, and I'm her son."

* * *

**this is just a little preview. I'm posting a bit more later today, and I want to get as much as possible done before Season 3 starts (next week!), so I'm up to date with where I want this to go and where it _can_ go.**


	2. Notre Dame

**Hola! skipping ahead just a tad...**

* * *

"You're coming with us?" asked Henry, his brow furrowing into an incredulous look. It wasn't an expression he inherited from his mother, but Esme still found it unusually endearing, the way Emma's stoic frowns always gave Esme the feeling that Emma was someone to be protected.

Just like Henry. "Of course, _mon chou,_ it is a long drive. I'm there to take over if Emma gets tired."

"Won't get tired." Emma cut through their conversation, but Henry's curious gaze still lingered on Esme. He shot a quick glance toward the large brown book in his arms—which he had let to let go, besides to get some juice from the fridge—and Esme did not miss it. "Let's go," Emma continued, her keys rattling in her fingers.

She had changed into her usual clothes, most notably her red leather jacket and tall brown boots. Esme wondered about that jacket's significance. But maybe it was just a source of comfort. After all, Esme never left home without her scarf—it was translucent purple, dotted with silver moons, gold stars and violet tassels. One of a kind, nowadays.

As they left the apartment, Henry asked, "Are you French, Esme?"

She grinned, and gave him a covert wink. "Among many other things, _mon chou._" He grinned back, seemingly pleased with the endearment.

Leaning towards Henry, Esme lightly tapped the spine of the brown book in his arms, giving the boy an inquisitive look. "What is this?" she asked. Henry assessed her, seeming to consider her worthiness, before he shook his head.

"It's for Emma, but—"

"What's for me?" Henry gave the blonde woman an exasperated look.

Now _that_ look, Henry got from Emma. "I don't think you're ready for it," Henry admitted, shaking his head. Emma raised an eyebrow, but led them to her old yellow car without question.

Esme realized it was colder outside than she had expected—it would probably be even cooler in Storybrooke, Maine. She wrapped her scarf tighter, but it didn't help much. She missed the tropics—the sea breeze, the warm air.

Her thoughts halted as she snapped back into the real world—Henry had slammed the car door. "You comin' or what, Es?" Emma called from the driver's seat. She hurried to follow them into the warming car.

During the ride, Esme and Emma continued to ask Henry about the book he flipped through ever so often. When he finally relented and explained it—and hence the reason why he had been looking for Emma in the first place—Esme had honestly wished she hadn't encouraged opening such a terrible can of worms.

For any given roommate helping out a friend, the boy's story would've seemed cute, or maybe a little concerning, but otherwise unrealistic and unimportant. It _was_ about magic, after all.

The problem was that Esme Gringoire was not just a random friend that had gone along for the ride.

* * *

The year was 1494, eleven years since Agnes Gringoire had passed away, leaving behind a daughter, who was cared for by a kind man that life had treated cruelly.

"_Esmeralda, who is this?"_ Quasimodo asked, eyeing the strange boy from beneath his hood. He usually took off his cloak in her presence, but not when there were strangers about. The girl was even more loving than Agnes had been.

She approached him Quasi with a self-assured expression that he knew well, gripping the boy's hand tightly as she dragged him along. He looked thin, and grimy. _"This is my friend. I'm going to teach him French, and he will teach me English. Can he stay?"_

Quasi fixed the tired boy with a steady look. The boy was taller than him—but most normal people were—and looked a few years older than Esmeralda. Mostly, Quasi noticed how lost the boy was. It stirred his compassion, the way Esmeralda had.

He pulled back his hood, waiting for the young man's reaction. There was none, besides the boy's eyes widening before he bravely made eye contact. "_Of course. As long as he needs to."_

… One Year Later ...

Esmeralda was shaken away by her brother, opening her eyes to his fearful gaze. "What iz going on?" she asked hurriedly, remembering to keep her voice low. Even so, he pressed a finger to his lips, tugging her out of bed.

While her brother was distracted—looking out the window, for some reason—Esmeralda changed from her sleepwear into her skirt and blouse after noticing that he was fully dressed as well. When he turned back, he averted his eyes out of respect until she had finished, and then seized her hand.

They shared a small room, but it was separate from Quasimodo's. Her brother dragged her away from the small window, as far as possible. Out of the corner of her eye, Esmeralda saw something dark flick across the open air beyond the room. "What—"

"_There's something evil out there,"_ He muttered through clenched teeth. "It came last night, but I fought it off—I don't think I can stop it again, Es. It's—it's from a bad place."

His brown eyes met her green ones, mutual fear growing. "But," she whispered, "what iz it?"

He had no time to answer. A dark, elongated shadow grew into existent, standing in the windowsill. Its eyes were two bright dots, twinkling like the stars visible in the night sky. He yanked Esmeralda backwards as the shadow approached them, holding out its hand in a seemingly innocuous gesture.

"You won't take her," He told it bravely, squeezing Esmeralda's hand tightly before releasing it. "Take me instead, and _don't come back_."

"What? No!" Esmeralda exclaimed, seizing his hand just as the shadow grasped his other. "You're not leaving!"

"Es, let go! I won't let it hurt you, or anyone else—it's _magic_, Esmeralda, and magic—"

"_Always comes with a price!_" Esmeralda shrieked, not caring whom she woke anymore. "_I know_, Bae, I know that!"

He looked at her sadly, but then sharply shook off Esmeralda's hand.

"You don't, Es. That's why I'm not letting it take you—" the shadow pulled sharply on Bae, forcing him towards the window and lifting him off his feet briefly. Esmeralda gasped in surprise, but didn't retreat back from the shadow's eyes, however menacing they seemed now.

Esmeralda, terrified of the shadow, realized that her brother had turned away from her, and stopped resisting the evil thing's pull. Her fear morphed into stubborn anger, and she raced towards the window after them.

"Es, _no—_"

But it was too late. Esmeralda, in a moment of headstrong bravery, latched onto the shadow's other arm, somehow knowing that once you took its hand, it would not release you easily. Within moments, her bare feet were lifted from the cool floor, and the two of them were hauled out the window.

She felt weightless, yet still feared that she would fall to her death. The shadow carried them up and up, past the cathedral's highest spire, and higher. She caught his eye in the growing darkness.

"_I'm so sorry, Es!"_

But Esmeralda shook her head. _"We'll be ok, Bae!"_ she shouted back over the noise from the wind in their ears. _"We'll be ok!"_

* * *

**Most of the words in italics are French, but sometimes it's just for _emphasis._ If it's easier, just think of it as _emphasized French_ every time.**

**I'll be switching back and forth between Esme's back story and the present, and then move on to mostly Storybrooke-present once her story's established and it diverges into true alternate-universe-ness.**

Of course, I'd love to hear what you think. I'll be updating weekly from now on (I'll try!), but more importantly, I'm very, very open to ideas! I love a challenge, and I'm willing to incorporate whatever I can, especially since any pairings in this story aren't decided yet.


	3. That Creeping Feeling

**Ch. 3 - That Creeping Feeling**

It was a quarter past ten when the odd trio reached Storybrooke, Maine, but Emma was determined to drive the entire time—the only break she took came in the form of screeching the yellow bug to complete stop in the middle of Storybrooke's main street when Henry refused to give them his address.

Exhausted, annoyed and emotionally unstable (though Esmeralda would never say it out loud), Emma practically threw herself out of the driver's seat, slamming the car door behind her as Henry and Esmeralda followed her into the middle of the street.

The entire ride, Henry had been carefully explaining his situation—magical fairy tale characters and all.

"Look, it's been a long night. It's almost…" Emma hesitated, and Esmeralda looked up to see the blonde looking at a large clock above a boarded-up library, reading—"8:15?" Emma squinted at the numbers, wondering if she had misread it.

"That clock hasn't moved in my entire life," Henry informed them, climbing out of the car after Emma and Esmeralda, the former looking decidedly harried. Esme simply looked around, wondering.

If not for what Esmeralda already knew of magic—and what she knew, she intended to keep to herself for as long as possible—Esmeralda wouldn't have believed Henry. As it was, she had nearly doubted the existence of Storybrooke, and now that she was here, she was convinced it had to be a ghost town.

"Time's frozen here," Henry said in a low voice, though there was no one to overhear them.

"Excuse me?" Emma asked, her face still set in a frown and her arms crossed defensively.

"The Evil Queen did it with her curse. She sent everyone from Fairy Tale Land here." Henry had already explained this, but it hadn't seemed to sink in for Emma until now.

"So, a bunch of fairy tale characters, frozen in time—and stuck in Storybrooke, Maine." Emma summarized. "_That's_ what you're going with?"

"It's true," Henry insisted. Esmeralda thought it best to let them work this out for themselves. "They can't leave. If they try, bad things happen." She could see how sincere Emma's boy was. She was sure that Emma saw it too, but it was too much for someone unfamiliar with magic to accept.

Esmeralda wondered how she had gotten into this mess. She had been in this world for many years, with the intentions of growing old in peace. It seemed that life had other plans for her—but was it fate or coincidence that she had met Emma?

"Henry!" someone snapped her out of her brief contemplations, and they all turned towards the unknown voice. It was an older man, with red hair, walking a vivacious Dalmatian. "What are you doing here? Is everything alright?"

"I'm fine, Archie." Henry assured the man, grinning at the dog.

"Hi Pongo!" Henry greeted the Dalmatian, and the older man smiled at the three of them in vague friendliness.

"Who are they?" Archie asked Henry in a mild voice.

"Just someone trying to give him a ride home," Emma said obscurely, her arms still crossed defensively. Esmeralda opened her mouth, but Henry beat her to the punch.

"She's my mom, Archie—oh and that's her friend Esme."

Archie's mouth formed an 'o' as realization came to him. "Oh. I see."

"Do you know where he lives?" Emma added, shooting her son a dark look for his cheekiness. Esme herself had been quite impressed with Henry's defiant response eariler , _44 I'm-not-telling-you Street._

Archie's head bobbed up and down, and he gave them the directions. "The Mayor's house is the biggest one on the block." Esme swore that she could hear Emma grinding her teeth as she turned to Henry briskly.

"You're the mayor's kid?" she asked steadily. Henry looked up with guilty brown eyes, before returning his attention to Pongo like the adorable ten-year-old that he was.

"I suppose we should get going then, _mon amie_, the mayor must be very worried." Esmeralda patted Emma's shoulder, drawing her attention away from Henry.

Briefly, Henry shot Esmeralda with an expression of utmost doubt, a looked that was unusually mature for someone so small. Esme frowned to herself, wondering who the mayor was from the Enchanted Forest and why Henry had run away from her.

After they had left Archie—and Henry claimed that the shrink was Jiminy Cricket, which was a pretty sensible assumption after his speech about lying and dark sides—Emma drove to Mayor Mills' home, a frosty silence icing over any potential small talk between the three of them.

Esme didn't miss how Henry waited until they had left the car, and how he slyly left his fairy tales book on the passenger seat, where Emma wouldn't find it until they left for Boston.

Esme decided to leave it there.

While Emma led Henry to the grand estate, Esme found herself loitering just outside the Mayor's property. She had actually intended to go in, wondering if she knew who the mayor was from the Forest, but then Esme had spotted something in the yard.

An apple tree. Esme had spent very little time in the Enchanted Forest, decades ago, but even she knew Snow White's tale. And the curse that Henry spoke of… clicked into place.

"Uh—" Esmeralda winced, realizing that she had interrupted Emma and Henry. "Maybe it's best if I stay out here?" she shot Henry an imploring look. "I don't have any business meeting the mayor, after all."

Henry's face lit up, as brightly as the tree in Rockefeller at Christmastime. Somehow, he had figured out that Esmeralda was trying to avoid meeting the Evil Queen, not the mayor. At least Emma missed his expression, because Esme did not want to lie, or explain anything quite yet.

Regina, a queen of the Enchanted Forest (because only the gods know how many kingdoms there were), had cursed an entire world to exact her revenge on the fair princess, her stepdaughter. A sleeping curse was one thing, but this… Regina had gone off the deep end with this. Esme was only thankful that she wasn't from the Forest, and had not been there when that curse had been enacted.

But, coming back to her main focus, Esme had no intentions of stepping onto the so-called Evil Queen's property for as long as possible, the same way she intended to avoid magical beings of all kind—from Rumpelstiltskin to the Blue Fairy, all magic came with an unprecedented price.

So, Esme contented herself with waiting outside, wrapping her flimsy scarf tighter against the growing chill of Maine. She had the sense to wear stockings with her long skirt, and borrow Emma's blue leather jacket, so she wasn't too uncomfortable.

She contemplated her place in all this—Emma was the savior, but Esme would be no help in convincing her roommate of that harsh reality. Henry was important as well, even if he wasn't written into that book.

So what did Esme have to do with any of this? Perhaps she should stick around, if only to find out how Emma Swan would end up saving all of Storybrooke.

Within a few minutes of hanging around outside the estate, just beyond the dark green shrubbery that served as a fence, Esme realized that her rigid pose was not entirely due to the cold. And with this realization, Esme felt distinctively chillier. Repositioning her crossed arms, Esme looked about, searching for anything that seemed out of place.

Something felt wrong. Nothing overtly sinister, or even magical, but the sense of wrong that one felt when hurrying through a dark alley and thinking that someone was watching, perhaps even waiting.

There was nowhere that someone could be watching from, though. The suburban homes were all dark, no movement to be spotted from suspicious vantage points. She couldn't see much beyond the trees around the suburbs, however, and the forest seemed to be on a slope, indicating an elusive hill just out of her sight.

"Hello there," a voice cut through the silence, almost startling Esme. She didn't frighten very easily these days, but she whirled around to face the stranger quite briskly.

The stranger in question seemed quite harmless, though, and Esme's rigid frame softened a bit. He was lean, with curly brown hair and a beard that looked as though it were the result of a couple weeks without a shave. Then she spotted his holster—and badge—and internally, Esme frowned.

"Evening, uh… Sheriff." She smiled a little at him, acknowledging the badge for his benefit. Her feeling of being watched hadn't quite disappeared yet. "I trust the mayor is relieved that her son is home?" Esme wasn't sure why, but she was trying her hardest to suppress anything in her voice that would indicate her accent.

The sheriff paused for a moment, as if he were wondering what she knew about the situation, and then nodding slowly, a questioning look in his dark eyes. "I guess you could say that," he admitted cautiously.

Esme gestured to Emma's yellow bug, "I'm a friend of Emma's. She's had a long day, so I'm driving us back to Boston," she explained easily.

She grinned a little, and added, "Aren't you proud of me? A model citizen, the designated driver."

His mouth did quirk up at that, and Esme relaxed further when he allowed his hands to relax at his side instead of lingering close to that gun. "I suppose so. I'm Graham, by the way," he held out a hand.

"Esme," she shook his hand firmly, but then returned it to her crossed arms. Her feeling of being watched only intensified. Like a cat, she felt her hackles rise in a cautionary warning. Graham seemed to pick up on her discomfort.

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't look at her with uncertainty—in fact, he looked a little concerned. "Is something wrong?" Esme looked around once more, unable to resist searching for the source of her anxiety.

Finding nothing, Esme looked back to the sheriff, who seemed to be looking for anything out of place as well. His eyes fell back to Esme, his search just as unsuccessful.

Slightly exasperated and mostly desperate, Esme asked, "You know that feeling you get when there's someone watching you?" She was quite familiar with the feeling, actually, and she knew that she wasn't wrong.

To say the least, Sheriff Graham looked surprised. "So you think you're being watched? You mean right now?" Though he was mostly shocked, Esme found comfort in the fact that he wasn't disregarding her. Authority figures in this particular world could be quite cruel.

"I'm still hopeful that it's remnant of how unfamiliar I am to this town," Esme admitted, gnawing on her bottom lip as she looked back towards the forest. "All the same, I don't like it."

Graham nodded. "I can't do much for you if it's just a feeling, but if anything else happens, you know the number for the police, right?" His smile was a teasing one, but Esme saw that his eyes were imploring.

Esme smiled back, and nodded. "Nice to meet you, Sheriff," she said, implying a farewell. Graham got the message and stepped back, towards a cruiser parked nearby.

"Guess you'll be leaving soon, right? Nice to meet you too, Esme." He had an accent—it hadn't really registered in her head until now—that would be considered Irish in this world. The way that he said her name, with an Irish accent to boot, stirred something in her.

It stirred up an old memory, perhaps centuries old, of someone else she had known that had a similar Irish accent.

* * *

**Ha! you'll have to wait till next week for that character appearance! (you know, the other guy with an Irish accent...)**

**But... I might update again. If, you know, I get a couple of reviews. I have no way of knowing what you think, and I'm really hoping for some feedback. **

**Anyway, OUaT returns... TOMORROW NIGHT! F*ck Yeah, I can't wait for the 2-hour premiere! **


	4. The Jolly Roger

**Ch. 4 - The Jolly Roger**

* * *

It was getting harder and harder to hold on and focus, with the shadow moving so fast. She risked a glance at Baelfire—if she didn't watch where the shadow took them, she could fly into something—and saw that he seemed to be having just as much trouble. Their eyes met, expressing mutual fear.

They were approaching land, but Esmeralda hadn't been able to pinpoint when their surroundings had stopped being the starry sky and the dark blue ocean had formed. Yet she knew that they weren't in Paris any more. Esmeralda wondered if she would ever get back.

Faintly, she heard the cries of… children? It was as if the sound was magnified, echoing in her ears and painful to listen to.

"Neverland?" Her head whipped to the side, and indistinctly, she saw Baelfire's incredulous eyes. "No—you're _not_ taking her _there!_"

The desperation his voice scared Esmeralda, and she understood that this land was not good news for them. But what could they do?

A black mass in the water ahead slowly took form, and Esmeralda squinted, trying to make out what it was—_a ship?_ She wondered. It was clear that the shadow intended to take them to the island, but it had lowered towards the ocean; close enough for Esmeralda to make out her reflection in the black waters, but they were still skimming the low-hanging clouds.

She needed to make the shadow let them go. _How?_ Esmeralda wondered urgently. It was a shadow—it came in the night. Maybe it didn't like light. But she didn't have any light! An idea occurred to Esmeralda; her hand found a small pouch at her side, her coin purse, and she pulled out a firecracker.

Yesterday there had been a festival in the square. Esmeralda had bought a small firework, which sparked and fizzed when you tore out the string. She didn't bother to warn Bae, who was busy trying to fight out of the shadow's grasp with little success.

The shadow held her by the wrist, and she ignited the sparkler with her free hand, holding the light as close to the creature as possible. The shadow gave an odd, screechy noise of pain, and unwillingly released her.

She fell, and craned her head up towards Bae in time to see that he had gotten away as well—then the cool black water eagerly met her.

_Blackness. And then…_

Her skirt was heavy in the water, dragging her down—but no, it wasn't the skirt. There was something wrapped around her ankle, and—it was gone, and Esmeralda saw red fire highlighted by the light of the full moon. But that was unreasonable, considering her situation. Coming to what little sense she had left, Esmeralda fought towards the surface, the silver light of moon guiding her.

Naturally, she gasped and sputtered as soon as her head was freed, relishing the cool night's air despite the chill. "B-B-B-Bae?" she chattered out, forcing her eyes to search for him.

She could see his head bobbing to her left, closer to the ship than she had landed. Every movement was a challenge, but she waded towards him, trying to keep a level head. Now wasn't the time to panic, not when she was in danger of drowning—not drowning because she couldn't swim, but because she didn't have enough sense to fight the water and its creatures back.

"Bae—Bae, are you okay?" she asked, squinting in the dark to search for any injuries. He offered her a quick, genuine grin, but it was gone even sooner than it came. Bae looked like he was about to pass out, spitting out water as he tried to float.

"Esmeralda, you—you _followed_ me." She had half a mind to splash him. He was stating the obvious.

"Of course I followed you! Why are you bringing this up now?" she demanded, annoyance leaking into her voice. He only incensed her more when he gave her a weak smile in return.

"All the way here—you came _with_ me—" His head slipped down, half submerged in water before he forced himself to keep floating. She wrapped an arm under his shoulders, making sure he didn't slip under the water again. He was coughing again, and Esmeralda knew she couldn't carry him if he passed out.

"Hey!" she shouted towards the ship—it was much larger than she had previously imagined. "HEY! OVER HERE!" Esmeralda sighed in relief when she saw a lantern appear at the ship's edge. She spared Bae a glance—he still looked stunned, so she splashed him—and then he began to shout as well to get the sailor's attention.

A rope hauled them onboard, but neither of them was foolish enough to think that the danger had passed just yet.

Esmeralda didn't care that she was sopping wet, or that her body would start to shiver from the cold soon. But she was _horribly_ aware that she was a vulnerable twelve-year-old girl. With this fact in mind, she stuck close to Baelfire, though he was still coughing, spitting water out of his mouth. Esmeralda patted his shoulder, making sure he stayed upright.

"Good, lad," someone commented, "Get the sea out of your lungs." There were only two men in front of them, but they were _men_ and Esmeralda had met enough rogues to know that she was not safe.

"_Qui êtes-vous?"_ she asked warily, before realizing that the man had spoken English, not French. The man in question raised a dark eyebrow, as though her language fascinated him. "Who are you?" she asked again, making sure that she pronounced everything the way Bae did.

The dark man smiled slightly. "The name's Hook. Captain Hook." Esmeralda's grip on Bae tightened. "Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger, darling. How's your boy doing?"

Bae was leaning too heavily on Esmeralda's shoulder, forcing her to sink to the deck with him when his legs gave out. She looked at the captain, her eyes burning from more than just the salty ocean water. "_S'il vous plaît, aidez-le!"_ she begged.

"Don't you speak common tongue?" the man frowned, speaking in a complaining tone. But something about what he asked stirred something in Esmeralda. There was something familiar about that phrase—but she couldn't think about it right now.

She scowled instead. _"_Help him, _salaud!"_ Esmeralda knelt beside Bae, brushing wet hair out of his face. "Please, captain," she eyed the man imploringly, looking directly at him. Her father had always told her to look at someone's eyes when she spoke to them, otherwise they would think you were afraid.

Even though Esmeralda was afraid—the fact that the captain had a hook for a hand didn't help—she did not allow her gaze to waver from his face. Relief washed over her when the captain looked away first, conceding.

"Mr. Smee, get the boy below deck, and have someone look after him." The heavier man with a red cap must've been Smee, because his head bobbed up and down and he went over to Bae with a simple "Yes, Captain".

With Bae in Smee's arms, Esmeralda made to follow them—and was yanked back when she tried to move past the captain. At least he hadn't used his hook-hand—he just pulled her by the upper arm until she was directly in front of him.

"I don't think I said you could go anywhere, lass." He spoke lightly, but in a commanding voice that Esmeralda did not take lightly. Nor did she like being left alone with a pirate, no matter how accommodating he seemed so far.

"You seem just fine, and I have some questions," he continued. Bae and Smee disappeared below deck, and Esmeralda's stomach twisted into a knot once she lost sight of Bae.

Jaw clenched and hands balled into fists at her side, Esmeralda bravely looked up at the captain again, glowering at his patronizing tone. But she waited for his questions, deciding that she wouldn't speak unless she wanted to.

"Where did you come from?" he asked, but his tone suggested that he had already guessed the answer. She watched the captain's expression carefully.

"Not from here," she said vaguely, but she was still admitting a great deal. Esmeralda knew that being a foreigner was not an advantage. "But neither are you, right?" she shot back, remembering what he had said to her. 'Common tongue'—it was what Baelfire spoke, what Esmeralda knew as English.

Common tongue was what they spoke in the Enchanted Forest.

It was a guess, of course, but Esmeralda could see from the captain's expression that she was right on target. And then the man's blue eyes seemed to darken, and he took an ominous step towards her. "What makes you think that, lass?"

Thinking quickly, she answered, "You live on a ship. Are you not a traveler?" Esmeralda didn't think that the captain accepted this answer, but he seemed to let it go for the moment.

"What's your name, girl?"

In no way, shape or form did Esmeralda trust this man enough to give him her name. Baelfire had told her much about the world he had come from—a world of dangerous, evil magic, where his father was the evilest of all, because he was seduced by the power of magic. This world had magic, she was sure of it.

Anything was possible with magic. So Esmeralda wasn't taking _any _chances.

"Agnes," she answered confidently.

The pirate smirked. "Lass, I'd hate to mess with that pretty little face, but I don't like liars."

She faced him defiantly, even as her stomach dropped. "Why don't you tell me your name, then?" she turned the question on his evasively. "Your real name is not _Hook._"

His menacing look became one of genuine surprise, and he raised an eyebrow. "What interest would you have in my name, darling?" Esmeralda gave him a plain look, silently turning that question on him as well. "_I'm _the captain, you answer _my_ questions."

"Is there any harm in telling me?" Esmeralda challenged flippantly. "I am just, as you say, a _lass_," she spread her arms out in a gesture of diplomacy.

He barked out a laugh, shaking his head. "Aren't you _clever_," he seethed, his hand lashing out and seizing a handful of her shirt. "Watch your _tongue,_ little one. Or I'll be the one to cut it out."

* * *

**oh gosh i just saw the first episode of season three and I'm pumped! whoo!**


	5. Hoist the Colors

**whoo! long chapters are the best, right?!**

**Ch. 5 - Hoist the Colors**

* * *

When Emma returned from the mayor's home, she did not come in good spirits. Esme leaned against the bug, watching Emma look back to the estate, and watching Henry's figure disappear from the second story window. Seeing Emma's expression… Esmeralda felt her heart clench. Henry had already grown on her—she couldn't imagine what his birth mother was feeling, especially since it was obvious that Emma didn't have any faith in what her son claimed.

But Esme felt sick anyway, knowing that she could try to help Henry and his mom. It might not work, but it was better than watching Henry's hope die out.

It was late, and Emma had to be exhausted after everything that happened. Esme supposed that it was one hell of a birthday. She could work on bringing Emma to back to Storybrooke another time, because right now, all Esmeralda wanted to do was sleep before she sorted out this dilemma.

Emma tossed the keys to her roommate without a second thought.

"You're driving. Let's go," she said shortly, and Esme didn't argue.

Instead, Esme slipped into the car first, taking Henry's fairy tale book from the passenger seat and placing it carefully in the back. Emma didn't notice, which was only because she was too tired to be observant.

"You know," Emma said, in a dazed voice, "when you asked me to make a wish today?" Esme gave her a quick look, and nodded. "I wished that I wasn't alone. Not that I don't have you, but…"

"Family," Esme finished easily, her green eyes watching the blonde woman gently. "You wanted family."

Emma's mouth opened and closed a few times before she conceded with a short nod. "And—" her voice broke, and a real smile began to grow Emma's face. "and then Henry showed up."

There were many questions that Esme wanted to ask, but she realized that Emma was busy having an internal conversation and knew that Emma needed time to sort through everything that had been shoved onto her plate.

Almost at the town's limits, Esme spared her friend another glance, her mind drifting to another friend that she hadn't seen for many years. Turning back to the road, Esme stomped on the brakes, and veered to the side to avoid a large grey wolf.

With little more than a gasp from Esme, the car swerved, slamming into something very solid. Esme smacked her head on the wheel, and her vision abruptly went dark.

* * *

She woke up to whistling, in a pitiful cot that she did not recognize. Esmeralda looked over, and the whistling stopped as she made eye contact with the whistler. "What are you looking at, sister?" In a word, she would describe the man as grumpy.

Esmeralda realized quite soon that she was in a jail cell, adjacent to the whistling man—his nametag said Leroy. But what was she doing in jail?

Graham made his entrance then, looking through a small ring of keys as he went up to Leroy's cell. "Leroy. I'm going to let you out. You need to behave."

Esmeralda watched him, bewildered at the sheriff's normal behavior while completely ignoring her. "Put on a smile, and stay out of trouble." The grumpy man managed a leer and left his cell, whistling as he did so.

Coming up to the bars, Esme leaned against them and watched the sheriff dispassionately. "Where's Emma?" she asked quietly. Graham frowned a little.

"She stayed at the hospital for the night, but I think they'll discharge her soon enough," he said in a reassuring voice that did nothing to calm her.

"Okay," she accepted slowly, "Now tell me why I'm in here, Sheriff." Esme did not anger easily. In fact, she found that her level-headedness was even more unnerving in its stead.

She was not wrong, but took little pleasure in Graham's obvious discomfort. "Regina's drinks—a little stronger than we thought."

Esme's face fell in surprise, before took a long look at Graham and her heart clenched in disappointment. He was part of the queen's court.

The worst part was that he obviously believed what he was saying. She didn't care for his patronizing tone either, but his ignorance was concerning. "What's my name?" she asked him.

Frowning again—probably wondering if she had hit her head a little harder than he thought—Graham answered, "Esme; are you feeling alright?"

"I spoke with you last night, didn't I?" she pressed on, encouraging Graham to confirm it.

"Yes, you kept thinking you were being watched—" his tone was very different from last night, and with a sinking feeling in her stomach, Esme realized that she had lost any credibility she had gained in the sheriff's eyes. He didn't believe her.

"Then you remember me telling you about being the designated driver for the night because my friend was too tired to drive us home." She raised an eyebrow at the sheriff, wondering how he had rationalized her arrest in the first place. "When did I waltz into a mayor's grand estate and get drunk enough for you to arrest me for a DUI?"

Graham opened his mouth, but a pair of clicking heels and a worried female voice cut him off.

"Graham? Henry's run away again. We have to—" the voice died, and Esme found herself looking a smartly dressed older woman, with black hair and bright lipstick. "What is this? Who are you?"

Esmeralda shot an incredulous look at the sheriff, who looked more confused than ever. "You can reevaluate your accusations at any time, Sheriff," Esme informed him quietly. She turned to the woman. "You must be the mayor. I'm sorry to hear your son's run away… again." She said this slowly, mulling over what that meant.

"I heard there was an accident involving Ms. Swan's car and our town sign," Regina commented harshly, and Esme looked between the disguised queen and the confused sheriff, noticing the look they shared.

The only way that the sharp woman could be any more blatant was if she wrote 'I told Graham to arrest Emma for drunk driving as soon as he told me about the car crash' across her forehead. The way that Graham—even at this very moment—looked to the mayor for her opinion told Esme everything she needed to know.

"Sorry about the sign," Esme told her honestly. "I'm glad there was no one else around to be hurt. Graham tells me Emma's nearly recovered." She watched the mayor, and was not disappointed.

Quickly, before the sheriff even looked up, a flash of distaste flickered across the black-haired woman's face. Interesting.

"Emma finds people for a living. She's very adept, and I'm sure she'd help," Esme offered anyway, ignoring Regina's sneer. "But in the mean time—would you mind letting me out, Sheriff?"

* * *

While Emma, the sheriff and the mayor searched for Henry, Esme paid for a room at the local inn. She had faith that Emma would be able to find Henry easily enough—he seemed to do this often, if Regina's words were anything to go by.

Dumping what little stuff she had brought with her into her temporary home, Esme decided that it wouldn't hurt to take a walk through the town. Stepping out into the cool air, Esme smiled slightly but was unable to fully appreciate the crisp autumn air. In the back of her mind, she remembered the frigid sense she'd felt the previous night, when someone had watched her.

There was no doubt in Esme's mind that she had been watched, despite the lack of evidence. With this sobering thought, Esme went as far away from the town that she could, to the docks on the opposite side of the small community. It wasn't a particularly long walk, and she didn't pause to speak with any citizens, so Esme found herself at the edge of the boardwalk within fifteen minutes.

The boats here were nothing in comparison to the fierce wooden ones she'd seen before, but the sails brought memories. They weren't very good memories, but they weren't unpleasant either. Just different ones, from a finished chapter of the same book.

The breeze played with her wild hair, her curls dancing into her view and making her skirt flutter at her calves. Esme didn't bother trying to tame her hair; she had resigned to her feral locks a long time ago.

To her left, the water and docks gave way to a small strip of beach, just beyond a few trees, and Esme went in that direction, humming to herself. When her shoes hit sand, Esme felt a strong urge to take them off and let her toes dig into the familiar material, but she resisted, knowing that this was a very different beach than what she was used to.

She hummed louder, recalling a tune and quietly repeating the lyrics to herself. There was a playground up ahead, and Esme planned to rest there before heading back into town. Shutting her eyes, she continued her song, quickening her pace to waltz in tune to the words.

"_The king and his men stole the queen from her bed._

_And bound her in her bones…_

_The seas be ours and by the powers,_

_Where we will we'll roam."_

"What's that mean?" a high voice interrupted her. Esme's eyes shot open, finding a young boy perched on the edge of a playground, watching her with interest.

She looked around, and noticed that it was not actually a playground, but a shabby wooden fort. "Hello to you as well, Henry," Esme answered, her hands settling on her hips as she gave the boy a disapproving stare.

"…Hi Esme. What a coincidence, meeting you here…" Henry's voice trailed off at Esme's increasingly judgmental look. "Please don't take me back yet."

Oh Gods, this kid would be the end of her. Esmeralda wondered if Henry knew how persuasive he was. She sighed, and settled herself beside the boy on the fort. "At least you're safe. The mayor isn't the only one that's worried for you."

Henry gave her a quick, hope-filled look, before it was gone and he turned away. "What was that song about?" he asked instead, coming back to his first question.

Esme gave him a bright smile, knowing that it was a tale that he'd enjoy. "It's an old sailor folktale," she explained.

Henry gave her a sly look, "A _pirate_ tale?" he asked with an eager grin. Esme raised a noncommittal eyebrow, and Henry gestured to his book sheepishly. "There aren't any pirates in the book."

"A pity," Esme agreed, "Pirates have the best stories," she shot him a mischievous grin.

"So it _is_ a pirate tale," Henry stated victoriously. Esme grinned, and nodded in affirmation.

"Well, the part that you heard is about Calypso, the goddess of the sea. The king of pirates and his court trapped her in human form so they could liberate the sea and roam them freely." She paused, trying to find the words. "You know what—I could sing the rest of it for you."

She was about to ask if Henry minded, but he had already shut his storybook and was watching her with utmost attention. Esme smiled slightly, and continued from what she could remember of the tale.

"_Yo, ho, haul together,_

_Hoist the colors high._

_Heave, ho,_

_Thieves and beggars,_

_Never shall we die…_

_Now some have died,_

_And some are alive, _

_And others sail the sea,_

—_With the keys to the cage,_

_And the Devil to pay,_

_We lay to Fiddler's Green..."_

Here, Esme's voice fizzled out, as she had forgotten the rest of the words. But the message was fairly clear anyway. "It's better when more people sing, because it's meant for a group," Esme explained quickly, wondering what Henry thought of her (and her less-than-stellar singing).

But Henry only ducked his head and focused on the large storybook in his lap, not uttering a word. He didn't close the book, but allowed Esme to look over his shoulder and skim the pages.

"What are you looking for?" Esme queried, noticing the way Henry was flipping through the pages as if he knew them by heart.

"You," Henry responded flippantly, pausing any time a princess showed up. "You're in here somewhere, I'm sure. Like Ms. Blanchard and Archie and Granny… I just need to figure out who you _were_."

Esme paused thoughtfully, wondering how she would be able to tell Henry the truth without scaring Emma when she found out. "How does the book end?" she asked first.

Henry gave her a searching look, and this time, seemed to deem her worthy of the truth. "With Emma, as a baby, being protected from the curse. And it's been twenty-eight years since then—the curse is starting to break."

This was news to Esme. "How can you tell?" she pointed out. "Nothing seems different to me," admitted Esme truthfully.

"The town clock," explained Henry, "it's moving again. Time is starting to _unfreeze_. We just need to wake everyone up now." He flipped through the book with more vigor now, before giving up with a frustrated sigh. "I'm sorry Esme, but you'll have to wait like everyone else."

Esme just nodded vaguely, leaving Henry to his book as she organized her thoughts. It would mean the world to Henry if he knew that even one person truly believed him—besides Emma, who was a perpetual skeptic and mostly worried for Henry's safety instead of the truth.

But could she risk it? Esme knew that if she got involved in this, there was a possibility that magic would come to _this_ world, or she would be taken to the Enchanted Forest… _Oh gods…_was Rumplestiltskin in Storybrooke?!

No. No, no, no. She couldn't risk it.

But Henry was brilliant, and no one believed him and she couldn't crush him like everyone else was! Esmeralda already loved this kid—maybe some saw love as a weakness, but it had always been Esme's strongest attribute. It wasn't something she could overlook.

It was a few minutes later when Esme had decided.

"That song," she said softly, but attracting Henry's attention very quickly. He was a sharp boy. "It's a pirate's tale—but it's not from the Enchanted Forest," she said carefully.

"I never said it the Enchanted Forest," Henry said immediately. Like she said—he was a sharp boy.

"I know," her words remained a whisper, just louder than the wind fighting her voice for power, but Esmeralda continued. "But I am not in your book because I wasn't in the Enchanted Forest when the curse hit."

Esme rapped the page with her fingertips, fixing Henry with an honest, open look to her green eyes. "And because I wasn't cursed…I am still familiar with lands of magic."

Henry looked so eager to believe her. But he controlled himself, and asked, "If weren't in the Enchanted Forest, but you know about the curse—where are you from, Esme?"

Where, indeed? Esme offered him a small smile. "It's a bit complex to explain, _mon chou_. But I can tell you that I want to help you and Emma. Just—not so openly."

Wide brown eyes fixated themselves on her, articulating Henry's fast-growing hope without him speaking more than, "Really?"

How could she refuse him now, when all Henry needed to be happy was a little inkling of hope from an old soul? "Of course, Henry. Is this not fate?" she smiled wider, and received a grin from the boy in return. "Maybe I met Emma for a reason."

"But for now, we must find your mother—_Mothers_," Esme corrected herself, before frowning at the implication. "Well, not _mothers_, but mother and mother. Um. Biological-parent-and-adoptive-parent? Oh, you know what I mean." Esme waved her hand in a nonchalant gesture and hopped off the wooden for, ignoring Henry's grin.

"Do you think Emma will mind if I call her 'mom'?" Henry asked suddenly, his voice small but clear as a bell.

Esmeralda was not easily surprised, but this question caught her off guard. "Oh," she said ineloquently, gulping as inconspicuously as she could. "Well—actually I think she'd love it."

"Really?" Henry asked excitedly.

She nodded, remembering what Emma had admitted the night before. "She's too stubborn to say it. And, I think it might scare her, because she only met you yesterday. But Henry—oh, _mon chou,_ you mean the world to Emma already."

Looking down, Esme noticed that Henry's brown eyes were getting a little too shiny, and there was wetness in the corner of each eye that threatened to spill over. But his smile was that of joy, and Esme's heart filled with a similar sentiment.

She held out her hand and helped Henry down from the fort's high ledge. "Come on," Esme told him, "let's go find your family."

* * *

**Would you mind if I skipped ahead in Storybrooke? Esme doesn't have much to do with Charming waking form his coma, or Emma becoming deputy. Mind if I skip ahead to episode 7, 'The Heart is a Lonely Hunter'? I promise, things get interesting then!**

**Who wants to guess where that song's from? I KNOW you know it! :)**


	6. Everything but Blood

**Ch. 6 - Everything but Blood**

* * *

_~Neverland~_

It may seem crazy—in fact, it truly _was_ crazy—but the captain's threat made Esmeralda _braver._ Nearly every man she encountered in her short life in France was a dangerous one. There were no benevolent men in the slums of Paris, discounting Quasimodo and the church leaders.

She was _used_ to truants.

She knew how to handle danger. "Please, _monsieur_—sir, my name is Esme." Truth. It would solidify her act. "I—I just want to see my friend," Half-truth. Baelfire _was_ her brother, in everything but blood. "I do not mean any trouble." Lie. If he tried to betray them, she would bury the captain.

Esmeralda stared at the captain's blue eyes beseechingly, her hands clasped over the large hand holding her in place in a feeble attempt to remove it. Big, silvery tears began to spill from her red-rimmed eyes.

And she had him. The man didn't loosen his grip, or apologize, but Esmeralda could see his regret, dimly and expertly disguised, in his eyes. She had always been a pretty crier, Quasimodo had told her so—with chagrin, she might add. It was a huge realization for Esmeralda when learned how to cry on command. That had been when she was eight.

He shoved her away, sneering down at her frailty that didn't quite mask his pity.

"I'll allow it. You'll find Mr. Smee below deck."

Esme brushed at her eyes hastily, and dashed for the stairs. As soon as she was away from the captain, she exhaled a sigh of relief, and carefully brushed away the remnant wetness from her eyes.

Few people were immune to a child's distressing pleas. Not many actually pitied her act, but most were gullible enough to underestimate Esmeralda. The captain was gullible. Not incredibly so, or he would have accepted the name 'Agnes', but enough to disregard her as a spineless little girl.

But soon, he'd figure out that Esmeralda was far from cowardly.

* * *

When Esme finally made it to Bae's side, he was awake, and she flung herself at him. _"Idiot, tu m'as fait peur!"_ she spoke into his shirt, willing herself not to cry.

"Been awake two minutes and you're already insulting me?" Bae teased, patting her consolingly. "I'm fine, Es. Where've you been?" he asked, frowning at her.

She bit her lip, and carefully explained her conversation with the captain to Baelfire, in French to be safe and omitting the captain's threat. Bae's grasp on the language was limited, but he understood enough, and knew that she didn't plan on trusting Hook.

"Baelfire, how do we go home?" Esme asked, switching back to English in a quieter tone, her eyes wide. "Do you think the Shadow will return for you?"

"Indeed it will, with reinforcements," Hook answered her. They turned—the captain was leaning in the doorframe, watching the two of them lazily. "The Lost Boys rule this area—don't want to mess with that lot, trust me."

Baelfire's hand on Esme's forearm tightened, and the two of them tensed as they realized the trouble they were in—but with the Lost Boys or with Hook?—the action didn't go unnoticed by Hook.

"Baelfire, is it?" Captain Hook strolled towards them, like he owned the place. Which he did, Esme supposed, as it was his ship. "The Lost Boys only take the boys, not girls, so it's safe to say they're looking for _you_."

Blue eyes flickered curiously to Esme, before the captain's expressed smooth out into a passive mask. Bae's eyes only hardened. "And what do you plan on doing, captain?"

The man shrugged, as if he didn't care either way, but Esme knew he did. If the so-called 'Lost Boys' ruled these waters, then it meant that Hook had to answer to them. The only question was if the captain wanted to obey.

But a small, hopeful voice in Esme's head told her that _the captain doesn't like following anyone else's orders_, and that _he felt bad about scaring you…_

Without a word, the captain strode over to the other side of the small room, shoving aside a chair and pulling up a square panel of wood from the floor. There was a small hole, leading into a smallish, well-hidden room. Esmeralda blinked at the implications, her head darting up to stare at the captain in surprise.

He wanted to _hide them_ from the Lost Boys?

Esme considered reevaluating her assessment of the man.

"You'll help us?"

He nodded to Bae, who gave the captain a long look. Then, Bae turned to Esmeralda.

"_Tu lui fais confiance?" Do you trust him?_ Bae's French wasn't the greatest, but Esme got the gist of what he was asking through his quiet tone.

Esme shrugged, biting her lip. She would've looked at the captain, but that would give away the fact that they were talking about him. "_Je ne sais pas—sa main me fait peur," _she joked, _I don't know—his hand scares me._

"They're coming for me, not her, right?" Bae asked Hook, silently accepting that Hook was willing to help.

Hook crossed his arm, returning to the doorframe. "Aye," he said.

Esmeralda didn't know what 'Aye' meant, but Hook nodded, so she assumed he meant 'Yes'.

"If you really want to help—then just keep her safe. If they get me, I mean. That's all I ask." Baelfire stared straight at the captain as he spoke, willfully ignoring Esmeralda's increasingly horrified expression.

Hook nodded solemnly, and Esme whacked Bae in the back of his head.

"_Merde, je vais pas te laisser cette chose, imbecile!"_

Esme didn't even care that the captain was witnessing this all. "What, you think I don't understand what you are saying?" she asked Bae sharply. "Why do you think I _came_ here, Bae?"

"Since when do you curse so much?" Bae complained, idly massaging his head and ignoring Esme's rant.

"_Merde!_" she yelled again, her hands itching to slap Bae again. "I'm not leaving you. Even if you leave, I will _follow_."

It was quiet for a moment, before the captain cleared his throat. "Well, as touching as this conversation is, I'll take my leave. I'll give you an hour. Don't think you're staying on my ship for free."

He left them alone, but Esme knew they had to be careful around the captain.

"Why?" Bae asked suddenly, his dark eyes watching her seriously.

"Why, what?" Esmeralda demanded, her irritation leaking into her voice. So far, Bae had failed to give her a reason why he was so adamant to leave her behind, besides being a self-sacrificing _dolt._

"Why did you come here, Esmeralda? Why would you _follow_ me?"

His eyes conveyed his story better than any words could. Esme had asked Bae about his past very early on, and he'd explained everything. Esmeralda was eleven when Bae told her of the Enchanted Forest, of magic-bean-portals and the Dark One—while she was an impressionable, true believer of other worlds.

But what Esme remembered most was that Bae had come to Notre Dame alone, starving and quite afraid of everyone, because his father had been too scared to let go of his magic for his son's sake.

After everything that had happened to Baelfire, she couldn't just let him go off on his own _again_, into uncharted territory, because he wanted to spare _her_.

"You are my best friend, Baelfire. If we're going to make it out of here—_and we will, I swear it_—then we stick together." For once, her voice did not fail her. She gripped his hands in her own tightly, and looked at him with earnest green eyes. "_That_ is why I followed you. Because if I did not, you would never figure out how to escape."

Her last comment was teasing, but her serious expression hadn't faltered, so it took a moment for her words to sink in, and then Bae was grinning back, mussing up her wild black hair and poking her side because he was the only one that knew where she was ticklish.

It was a brief moment, but one that they'd both come to recall with utter clarity. A moment where they were just Baelfire and Esmeralda, the fifteen-year-old son of the Dark One and the twelve-year-old Gypsy girl from Notre Dame.

Where they were brother and sister, and the only family each other had.

* * *

**I know, short chapter, but my muse is failing. Not to worry, it'll be reinvigorated tonight when I watch tonight's new episode!**


	7. Girl Talk

**Ch 7— Girl Talk **

* * *

When Esmeralda and Emma finally sat down in their two-bed room and Granny's Inn for their second night in Storybrooke, it was to talk about Henry.

Emma's eyes darted all around the room, never settling on Esme. "This probably wasn't what you signed up for, huh?" she smiled, but it was not real. "I'm so sorry about all of this, Es."

Esmeralda leaned forward on the bed, twisting the chain of her necklace absentmindedly. "The fault is not your own, Emma. But, I must ask… what happened?" Her voice was low, and her eyes prodding at the inevitable history that was being brought to light.

And Emma sighed, her eyes still not meeting Esme's. Blonde waves fell forward, as if Emma were using it to hide herself. It was unnerving for Esmeralda. Emma put up a strong front most of the time.

"It—it was years ago. I met a guy when I was seventeen, by the time I was eighteen he'd framed me for theft and disappeared. I found out that I was… about Henry… when I was in jail." Emma looked up, her expression fierce enough to silence any words from Esme. "I couldn't keep him. Not when I still had a month left in jail and absolutely nothing to my name."

But Emma's voice crumpled, and Esme could see doubt seeping in. "I had to do it. I-I had to—to—"

"Give him his best shot," Esme finished slowly, still twisting her fingers around her locket's chain. "You weren't mother material ten years ago, Emma."

The blonde woman rubbed at her eye. "I'll never be—"

"Shut up." Esme shook her head. "Henry came to you. He found his birth mother, yes—but do you really think that's all he wants?" She raised an eyebrow at Emma, ignoring the woman's surprised look. "He wants to get to know you. For you to have some sort of relationship with him. I think you can manage that much."

But Emma looked terrified.

"…And maybe not, so that's why I'll stick around. For moral support. I think Henry's pretty cool, anyway." Esme shrugged, looking thoughtful.

"Are… are you sure about that? Es, I don't know how long I'm going to stay…"

"The longer, the better, _mon amie_. I'm looking forward to getting to know the sheriff," Esmeralda grinned, and Emma rolled her eyes.

"We're already on a first-name basis." Esme was struggling to keep a straight face. "Sure, he arrested me, but I don't really mind handcuffs—"

At this point, Emma smacked her with a pillow, and they both dissolved into easy laughter.

* * *

**Sorry for the short chapter! I'm still figuring out some stuff - I don't intend to re-write the entire first season of OUaT, so I'm still picking and choosing my episodes to include. I'm open to suggestions, regarding just about any aspect of this fic, so don't be shy :)**


	8. Fairy Tales

I'm sorry. I hate this chapter, it's not even a chapter, I'm just skipping around a bit. And don't flame me for the lack of depth to Esme's conversations; she's either completely out of it, or too young and emotional to speak as eloquently and strongly as usual. Or maybe that's just because I'm out of it right now.

I don't want to let this story go, not before I give the plot a chance to really kick in. So yes, this chapter sucks ass, but I'm working on it.

**Ch. 8 - Fairy Tales**

* * *

_**Storybrooke**_

In the following weeks, there was a lot going on in Storybrooke.

Prince Charming awoke from a coma, but in this world, he was married to a woman named Kathryn. Mary Margaret was heartbroken—and so was Esme. The teacher had been kind enough to let Emma and Esme live in her home when Granny had to kick them out of the Inn (apparently Esme was a felon, and the Inn did not allow her kind).

Henry and Archie fell into a sinkhole—and terrified half the town when it took hours to get them out.

Emma, briefly, became deputy—but last night, after finding out that Graham was sleeping with the mayor, she quit.

Esmeralda was fairly certain that she had met Cinderella, but she hadn't gotten the chance to confirm this with Henry. So far, there wasn't much that Esme or Henry could do to break the curse without Emma's help.

But as of right now, Esmeralda was having second thoughts.

She had just found out who Rumplestiltskin was, after approaching the local pawnshop about getting a job. It hadn't even occurred to Esme what kind of person would be running a pawnshop—no one had told her that Mr. Gold owned most of the town, or she would've guessed who he was a while ago.

The worst part is that he hired her, and Esmeralda was horrified. She didn't have the heart to tell Henry who the man was—it would scare him more than the Evil Queen if Henry knew about everything that the Dark One had done.

Esmeralda pondered her options as she worked on the kitchen counter with Mary Margaret, preparing a meal for the three residents of the apartment. She could pretend not to know anything when the curse broke—but then someone would ask why she helped Henry in the first place.

She must have been tenderizing the chicken a little cruelly, because Mary Margaret raised an eyebrow in concern. "Anything on your mind, Esme?" she asked lightly.

Pausing, Esme set the knife down and smiled sheepishly. "_Merde,_ I'm not paying attention, am I?"

Mary Margaret just smiled in understanding. "I know you're closer with Emma, but… do you want to talk about it?"

Esme stared at Snow White, at her kind blue eyes that seemed to transcend even the darkest of curses. This woman was a queen, even if she didn't know it. Esme knew, queen or not, Snow White would've asked the same question.

"I… I miss my brother," Esme admitted, realizing it was true as she said it. They had relied on each other for so many years… and this involved Baelfire, _Neal_, just as much as it involved her. Neal hadn't even heard about the curse—he didn't know that his father was in this world, and if she helped break this curse, Rumplestiltskin would search for him. Surely Neal deserved to know about this?

Mary Margaret gently took Esme's hand, and guided her to the couch so they could sit together. "I… didn't know you even had a brother," Mary Margaret confessed.

Esme shrugged. "I haven't visited him in years. Ten, eleven years even. We still talk, and I've been thinking about paying him a visit soon, but..."

"What's stopping you?" Mary Margaret asked serenely.

Esme bit her lip. "I don't want to ruin what he has," Esme found herself confessing. Mary Margaret must have been confused, but bless her, she didn't pry. "After everything he's been through, how could I ever pull him back into—into… I—" she gave Mary Margaret an elegiac look. "It's not something I can explain. But I miss him."

"Did he give that to you?" Mary Margaret wondered, her eyes following Esme's hands.

Esmeralda's eyes flickered down—she was fiddling with her necklace again. It was an ornate locket that hung on a long, tarnished chain. Esme clicked it open unconsciously, revealing a tiny mirror on one side, and a working compass on the other.

"Actually, I gave the other one to him," Esme explained, twisting the chain around her index finger. "It was my idea of friendship necklaces—I convinced Neal that it wasn't too girly for him to wear."

Esme smiled at the memory, and Mary Margaret smiled back. "it's beautiful," she commented. "And I bet he still wears it," she added softly.

For some reason, Mary Margaret's conviction heartened Esmeralda. She rubbed at her green eyes hastily, and then—with a little half-sob that would stay between Mary Margaret and Esme—the gypsy girl pulled the young queen into a hug.

* * *

**_Neverland_**

Bae was gone. They'd lasted three weeks on Hook's ship, before Baelfire found a drawing of his mother in the captain's quarters, and Hook admitted that he was the pirate that had taken his mother away. Hook's story was quite different from the one that Bae had told Esme, but this was between Baelfire and the captain—she remained quiet.

True to his word, the captain hid Esme from the Lost Boys, and Baelfire was taken from her.

Esme had been silent ever since.

"Hand me that rope, lass," one of the crew members said. His name was John, or Sam, or something equally bland that Esme didn't care to learn. She passed the rope over.

At least she'd gotten stronger. Her blisters had vanished, replaced with smoother, tougher skin on her palms and soles of her feet. Esme didn't wear shoes anymore, and because she was the lightest, she was in charge of fixing sails and tying knots high above the deck.

Bae would always watch her when she was climbing, and now that he was taken from her, she would not do it for fun anymore.

Hook, thankfully, ignored her attitude. She was free to roam the ship as long as she didn't get herself into any trouble with the rest of the crew. They were pirates—Esmeralda had no intentions of going anywhere near them if she didn't have to.

So Esme spent her time at the front of the ship, leaning just a little over the edge, watching the glittering water froth and bash the wood. It was here that Esme saw it.

Well, saw her—a mercreature. The red haired creature poked her head out of the water, and stared at Esme just as curiously as Esme stared at her.

No one was around.

"Hi," Esme ventured carefully.

The girl's face split into a blinding grin. "Hello there! Are you a human?" she whispered back excitedly.

Esme nodded. "Are… are you a… a—" She didn't know the English word for it.

"Mermaid? Yes."

"A mermaid," Esme repeated, pleased that she could pronounce the word. "My name is Esme."

"Ariel," she responded. "Are you a pirate, Esme?" Ariel asked hesitantly.

"No," Esme answered vehemently. "I'm stuck on this ship. I don't like them."

Ariel's eyes widened. "You're a prisoner?"

Esme hadn't really thought of it like that. "Not really. But I need to get off this ship. Have you heard of the Lost Boys?"

The mermaid gasped, and nearly disappeared under the water. "Don't speak of them! Pan's shadow can be anywhere." Esme did not like how this sounded.

"They've taken my brother. I can't just leave him there." Esme explained.

The redhead was silently for a long moment, staring at Esme in deep thought. "What if… I could get you off this ship?"

Esmeralda's green eyes widened. "Then I'd be forever in your debt, Ariel."


	9. Bad Luck

****Some events happen faster than canon****

**I wrote in some of the episode names so you can keep track of the season's progress because a lot happens beyond what's in the chapter. If you're unsure of what else has happened so far, review or PM me, and I'll explain (either in an A/N or a PM).**

**Ch. 9 – Bad Luck**

* * *

(THE HEART IS A LONELY HUNTER)

The door swung open unceremoniously, and the two inhabitants of Mary Margaret's apartment were drawn to the sound. Emma stood in the front, green eyes vacant. She looked though she was about to tell them something, but was incapable of speaking.

"Emma?" Mary Margaret ventured, worry laced in her tone. "What happened?"

"Graham," the blonde girl answered in a whisper. And she was just a girl in that moment, one that was lost. Esmeralda knew this girl well, though she was rarely seen in Emma. "He's…"

"Mon amie?" Esme asked hesitantly.

"He's dead."

(DESPERATE SOULS)

It was time for Esme to do something. Even Henry knew that things had gotten worse. Graham's heart had been destroyed by Regina. There was some magic in Storybrooke. Esme needed someone with magic on her side.

And she knew just who to ask.

The bell at the door chimed whimsically as she pushed it open, but to Esme's ears it was just ominous. How many people had sought out the Dark One before, in this land and the one before it, to make a deal with magic?

Too many.

It was Tuesday morning, 7:15 am. She was early, but Gold didn't look surprised. He had emotions, but he hid them well. "Morning, dearie. I have a few cases for you to clean out."

Esme nodded dutifully, and grabbed her supplies from the closet. "I suppose you've already heard about Graham?" she asked conversationally. Like it didn't scare her, because the public story was that he died from a heart attack.

"You would be correct. Such a pity, he was a good sheriff." Gold turned away. Esme steeled herself.

"A good huntsman, you mean," she replied, her voice just as slick as Gold's. She watched him hesitate. "Somehow, I forgot that Regina was so vengeful."

Gold turned around, like he simply wished to continue their idle conversation. His eyes betrayed nothing, but Esme knew that he knew more than he would let on. "Now, what makes you think this had anything to do with our mayor?"

"Because it had everything to do with Emma, Mr. Gold," Esme answered honestly. "And Emma is someone to be jealous of."

His eyes glinted, analyzing everything about Esme that he could see. "So, what makes Ms. Swan somebody… and you, Ms. Gringoire, nobody?"

"We play roles," Esme explained carefully, mulling over every word. "But Emma hasn't found hers yet. My role is helping her, Regina's role is stopping her, and your role is getting your magic back."

Mr. Gold leaned back, both hands on his walking cane. "So have we let go of all pretenses, Ms. Gringoire?"

Her heart was drumming, but she didn't let her anxiety show. She had learned to hide that a while ago. "No. You're still just Mr. Gold. If you want to be more than that, then you need to help Emma first."

"I know that," he acknowledged offhandedly. "But what I don't understand is _your_ role, Ms. Gringoire. Helping? There's more to you than just that. Who _are_ you?"

But Esme was already shaking her head. "I'm just the friend, Mr. Gold. That's the only title of mine that matters."

(7:15 AM / WHAT HAPPENED TO FREDERICK)

While Esme and Gold had come to a settlement, Emma had convinced Mary Margaret to confront David. She didn't know much about the situation beyond the fairytales and what Mary Margaret felt comfortable sharing, so Esme was caught unprepared when Kathryn approached her a week later.

It was off-peak at the diner, with Dr. Hopper sitting at the counter and Esme occupying one booth by herself, facing the door like she always did. She saw Kathryn walk in, but hadn't realized that Kathryn even knew who she was.

The blonde woman sat down across from her with an audible sigh, both hands on the table and playing with the saltshaker. Esme set down her book—it was Victor Hugo's version of her story, actually—and looked at Kathryn politely.

"Hello there," she greeted the troubled woman. "You don't look too good," she commented, but there was no venom in her tone.

Kathryn—King Midas's daughter, Abigail—laughed brokenly and rubbed at her red-rimmed eye. "No, I-I guess I don't, huh?" she set down the saltshaker carefully. "I'm sorry, I just don't want to talk to anyone that I know—I mean, not that you don't matter—Esme, right? —It's just I thought it's better to talk to a stranger, you look approachable, you know? But maybe I'm wrong. I'm bothering you, aren't I? You know what, I should just—"

"Kathryn, I don't mind your company," Esme cut her off, only slightly alarmed by the tumultuous flow of words spoken in just a few seconds. This wasn't the first time she was someone's confidante. Emma had told her—more than once—that Esme was very easy to talk to.

"Are—are you sure? I mean, god, I'm such a mess. And you're friends with Mary Margaret! I don't know how to talk to her. David and I have grown apart, but would that even happen if they hadn't met? No, no—I don't blame Mary Margaret for any of this, I don't even blame David, really…"

Esme watched her thoughtfully. "You and David aren't what you used to be, before his coma," she asserted gently.

Kathryn nodded vigorously. "Exactly. Well, no—even before the coma, we were always fighting. We don't fight now, we don't even talk now, and neither of us really want to make it work anymore."

She fiddled with her coffee mug, stirring the contents slowly. "Then you're not really concerned about David and Mary Margaret, then," she pointed out. Kathryn looked conflicted. "You're worried about not having anyone at all, and starting over."

Kathryn didn't answer, but she was listening, so Esme went on. "You know there's nothing for you to hold onto, but you're still clinging to your relationship because you're afraid of what comes next."

Kathryn leaned heavily onto the table, her forearms the only barrier between her forehead and the tabletop. "It feels like David and I have been together—separated and not all the happy, but together—for as along as I can remember. I don't know how to move on from that."

She reached out and touched Kathryn's hand lightly. "I think you should start with being happy, then." Kathryn raised her head a little, and sniffled. "Focus on your own happiness. Do something for yourself, not just for your relationship," Esme suggested.

"I know this must sound like I'm trying to separate you and David, but after what you've told me, I don't think that salvaging your relationship will ever bring you, or David, contentment." She wasn't lying about this. Kathryn deserved to be happy, just like everyone else in Storybrooke.

"I… I still love," Kathryn said feebly. There was no conviction in her words.

"I think that you love David and that David loves you, but neither of you are in love with the other. He doesn't make you happy, does he?" she challenged Kathryn pointedly.

And Kathryn shook her head, her eyes wide. "I—no, he's been home for a while, and… we're not happy." Tears were falling down her face, but Esme let Kathryn go through the motion. She needed to. "I-I know that. He loves her, and I'm in the way. I don't love him, and I'm still in the way."

"It's okay to start over, Kathryn," Esme told her quietly. Her mind was on her brother now, and how they still hadn't spoken yet, but it was better for both of them for now.

"I-I need to go." Kathryn stood up abruptly, knocking over the saltshaker. "Look—Esme—thank you. Really. You're too nice. I-I'll see you later." And then she was gone.

She brushed the salt off the table, wondering if she had bad luck or not. But that was a stupid question. Of course Esme had bad luck. How else did she get herself into all the messes that she was in?

* * *

**Not sure why I put Kathryn in. I mean, y'all know what happens to poor Kathryn, but I thought she deserved a little more screen time than what was given in the show. **

**Anyway, the next chapter goes back to Esme's history, and it's a bit different than what Season 3 alludes to. :)**

**REVIEW IF YOU WANT MORE! I have Chapter 10 ready, I might even post early if you ask nicely... :)**


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